By Smaktakula

“Now Who Will Tell Me What To Think Of The Movies I Watch?”

The world has lost two very special people in recent days, both of whom made significant contributions to popular culture and the arts. There will be others who will follow in the trails these men blazed and perhaps forge paths of their own, leading us into mysterious lands yet undreamed. But never again will we see the likes of these two.

Shane Gandee: The cretinous reality TV yob is believed to have perished along with two other yokels of carbon monoxide poisoning.

His Corpse Was Discovered In A Twenty-Year-Old Pickup Partially Submerged In Mud, So You Know He Died Doing What He Loved, Y’All.

Roger Ebert: The beloved film critic and prosthetics enthusiast succumbed to a lengthy battle with cancer.

After Penning The Cult Oddity “Beyond The Valley Of The Dolls,” Ebert Realized His Was Genius Lay Not In Creating Films, But In Telling People How To Feel About Films Other People Created.

Goodbye, dear friends, goodbye. The arts are poorer for your loss.

Also, for the sake of completeness, some dude from Africa, Chinua Achebe, kicked off a couple of weeks ago. No, we hadn’t heard of him either–he wrote a book or something.

Well, Sure–He May Have Been The Greatest Literary Voice In The History Of An Entire Continent, But Roger Ebert Was The Greatest Movie Critic In The Whole World.

By Smaktakula

Let’s Give Him This: There Aren’t Too Many Things Which Can Collectively Humiliate White People.

Fans of music and of culture in general were shocked by the news that tiresome rapper/plagiarist Vanilla Ice still lives. The music world had been abuzz in recent days over happy rumors that the grating space-waster had died, and will now have to come to grips with the realization that at 44 and in reasonably good health, the melanin-deficient fucknugget can stink up the nostalgia circuit for years to come. We can only pray that the day will come soon when the Almighty will tire of His cruel joke, and in delivering us from ‘Nilla, will ‘wax a chump like a candle.’

By Smaktakula

“Mr. Drummond, I Assure You, Not Only Have I Never Heard Of Something Called A ‘Stinky Pinky,’ But I–OH!”

Diff’rent Strokes proved an instant hit with TV audiences in September of 1978. The Norman Lear sitcom about Harlem orphans falling into the lap of luxury was anchored by veteran stage actor Conrad Bain, and featured promising child stars Todd Bridges and Dana Plato. But the breakout star of the fledgling show was an adorably precocious chubby-cheeked Gary Coleman, whose shameless mugging and hilarious catchphrase, Whatchootalkinbout, blurred the line between funny and precious.

For a time, Diff’rent Strokes was a cultural phenomenon. There were spinoffs both successful and unsuccessful–The Facts of Life and Hello Larry, respectively. A variety of high-profile guest stars appeared on the set, including Knight Rider and KITT, Mr. T and an only slightly punchy Muhammad Ali. Nancy Reagan even made an appearance in an very-special 1983 episode, where she made famous the line, Just Say No, which would within a few months completely eradicate America’s drug problem. It seemed there was no place too remote to escape the ubiquitous images of cherubic Gary Coleman and the rest of the gang. The future was indeed bright.

When Norman Lear Heard The Story Of The Park Avenue Psycho Who Abducted Two Street Kids As Sex Slaves (Seen Here On Surveillance Video), He Knew He Had A Hit Sitcom On His Hands. He’d Have To Clean It Up A Little First.

But by the time Diff’rent Strokes limped off the air in 1986, things had changed. The venerable show had outlasted everyone’s expectations, but the cracks were beginning to show. Cast members left, and improbable new ones were added. Worst of all, while puberty had done nothing for Coleman’s stumpy physique, it had cruelly robbed him of his last vestiges of cuteness, leaving him a troll. Even by the time the cameras had stopped rolling, people had begun to whisper about a curse.

Todd Bridges/Willis Jackson: Of the show’s three principal child stars, Todd Bridges has fared the best in that he remains alive as of this writing. In the early 1990s, it seemed almost a certainty that the actor would have been long dead by now. Life after Diff’rent Strokes may not have been easy for Todd, but it wasn’t boring.

Bridges traces his downfall to the diabolical troika of Sex, Drugs and Dana Plato. Already an up-and-coming child star by the time of Diff’rent Strokes, Todd was thrust too quickly into a world with which he couldn’t cope. Todd’s burgeoning crack addiction contributed to his legal problems, including a 1988 arrest for shooting a man while on a drug-binge. Bridges had both the wherewithal and resources to enlist the aid of Johnnie Cochran, and was able to beat the charges.

Today, it is possible to be optimistic about Todd’s future. He has been sober for several years, and has made inroads to rebuilding his shattered career. Todd furthered his redemption in 2002 when he beat the shit out of Vanilla Ice on Fox’s vile Celebrity Boxing.

Todd’s Redemption Song Was The Sweet Stacatto Melody His Fists Played Across ‘Nilla’s Face.

Dana Plato/Kimberly Drummond: Dana Plato began to unravel a few years before the show took its final bow. When she became pregnant with her only child in 1984, the show’s producers wrote her out, bringing her back for a few appearances in the final season, including a very special episode about bulimia. Even before her dismissal, rumors had begun to swirl about possible drug use and difficulties on the set.

It was difficult for Dana to find work, although she found in Playboy a showcase for her newly augmented breasts in 1989. Sadly, her pre-Brazillian ‘spread’ may constitute the last high point in an existence which would drag on for another ten years. During this time she would endure a number of personal setbacks–the death of her adoptive mother, abandonment by her husband and losing custody of her son, as well as some legal hassles. The most embarrassing of these, a video-store robbery, culminated in a 911 caller exclaiming, “I’ve just been robbed by the girl who played Kimberly on Diff’rent Strokes!”

Dana Felt Deceived When She Found That Her Criminal Record, Despite Happening In Las Vegas, Would Not In Fact Stay There.

Dana tried to revive her acting career, appearing in soft-core films and even claiming (although she would later recant) to be a lesbian. Dana died alone in a Winnebago on Mother’s Day 1999, parked outside her boyfriend’s mom’s house in Moore, Oklahoma. Almost eleven years later to the day, her son Tyler would kill himself, a second-generation victim of the curse.

Settle Down Now. If A Dead Girl’s Ass Makes This NSFW, Then Your Boss Needs To Learn To Live A Little. That’s All We’re Saying.

Gary Coleman/Arnold Jackson: Gary Coleman’s recent death is still fresh in the public’s mind. But the pitiably pint-sized punchline endured much in the twenty-four years between his untimely death and the cancellation of Diff’rent Strokes, and given the heights he once reached, his must have been the most dizzying fall.

Hello?!? It’s 2011; We Don’t Call Them That Any More. The Album Should Be Titled: “The Indian And The Cultural Folk Hero.”

Gary had always had health problems, which along with his medication, contributed to his runtiness. Then there were the legal troubles with his parents, whom Gary sued for misappropriation of his millions. Gary was profligate with money himself, indulging his habit for model trains. Sadly, the tiny has-been never thought to invest his resources into finding a cure for his virginity, which persisted throughout his life.

“Come On, Touch It. Just A Little Touch. Come On, Now–Slap It A Little.” Gary Had Trouble With The Ladies.

Whether it was as a money-lending pitchman, ‘Where Are They Now?’ TV cameo or as viral video laughingstock, Gary always found a way to entertain us. It seemed that Gary had finally found love in the form of confirmed cooze Shannon Price. Some experts have claimed that Price was the human personification of the Diff’rent Strokes Curse, or at the very least its dark avatar. Gary gave her his heart and in return she fiddled while he died, and in what is the greatest indignity of all, never in their several months of matrimony bestowed her marital favors on the virginal troll.

Conrad Bain/Phillip Drummond: A number of theories abound as to why Conrad Bain, who along with Coleman and Bridges was with the show for its entire run, has been allowed to live for almost 88 years. Popular explanations for this seeming immunity range from the plausible (“Bain’s Canadianness somehow inures him from the effects of the curse”) to the frankly ridiculous (“The cast members of Diff’rent Strokes aren’t the victims of a hex at all, but rather the twin factors of stardom at an early age and coincidence). Conrad attributes his longevity to nothing more than pure luck, clean thoughts and a half-pint of his own urine every morning.

This Gang Has A Bright Future.

Danny Cooksey/Sam McKinney: Whether Danny Cooksey is subject to the curse is a matter of some controversy among Diff’rent Strokes academicians, as the delightful, country-singing moppet only appeared in three seasons after Coleman’s cuteness began rapidly to wane. However, considering that those three seasons comprised the show’s pitiful last gasp and that Cooksey was at least partly to blame for the show’s demise, as the introduction of his character marked the veteran show’s “jump the shark” moment, many feel that Cooksey’s continuing existence is an affront to God Almighty. Since then, the sassy ginger is best remembered for being shoved into a video game by Bad Terminator in Terminator 2.

Danny Cooksey And His Awesome Band ‘Bad4Good.’ Or As We Like To Call Them, Tötyl Hömö.

Housekeepers: Likewise, the show’s three regular housekeepers, perhaps because none served more than four seasons, also appear to be free of the curse’s effects.

Charlotte Rae, who appeared through the first season as Mrs. Garrett, was miraculously allowed to escape via spinoff.

Nedra Volz, who played the antiquated Adelaide Brubaker, lasted a few seasons. Her career never suffered, and she died in 2003, well into her ninth decade.

Mary Jo Catlett was the last actress to play housekeeper to the Drummonds. Like Sam McKinney, her tenure included the series’ sputtering demise. However, as she was replacing an existing supporting character while McKinney was a new and unpleasant major character, the comparison is not valid. Catlett has enjoyed a steady, if unremarkable career.

“Killing Willis?” That’s A Bit Extreme. We’d Just Like To Kick Him In The Nuts A Few Times.

THE CURSE IN REVERSE!

Melanie Watson/Kathy Gordon: Melanie Watson is best remembered for portraying the wheelchair-bound Kathy in several episodes. In one notable appearance, Kathy denies that she is handicapped, and insists instead, “I’m handi-CAPABLE, turkey!” Melanie, who suffers from a condition called osteogenesis imperfecta, seems to have carved out a nice life for herself, even starting a company to train helper dogs.

So They’re Not ALL Losers, Turkey!

It would appear that the Diff’rent Strokes Curse has run its course. There will be those desperate few who hold out hope that the curse continue, perhaps branching out to claim performers with a more tenuous tie to the series than had “the big three.” But wishing fervently for a thing will not make it come to pass. The grim specter of death has lifted its pitiless hand from those involved with Diff’rent Strokes, and we will have to learn to live with it.

What Might Have Been: So Many Missed Opportunities, Gary. So Many Missed Opportunities.

Everybody’s got a special kind of story/Everybody finds a way to shine,/It don’t matter that you got not a lot/So what?/They’ll have theirs, you’ll have yours and I’ll have mine/And together we’ll be fine.

By Smaktakula

Oh, Man! If We Had A Dime For Every Time This Has Happened.

In which we opine upon the headlines of the day without first reading the articles.

***

Megadeth’s Dave Mustaine backs Rick Santorum~ See Kids? A bacchanalian life of drug-fueled debauchery is not without its consequences. Although the pernicious effects of addiction upon the family structure are well-documented and widely known, critical-thinking skills and good judgement are additional casualties.

Miracle baby born from a single sperm ~ Although we were inattentive (at best) in biology class, our understanding is that barring a multiple birth, the formula is 1 sperm +1 egg = 1 very expensive, back-talking pet.

Evidence: Hitler had love child~ ‘Love’ child doesn’t really work in the same sentence as ‘Hitler.’ We know it’s not particularly politically correct, but if there’s ever a time to bring back ‘bastard,’ this is it.

Police: Mom gave kids heroin ~ Kids today don’t know how nice they have it. We considered ourselves lucky if Mom gave us a nutmeg & codeine-syrup cocktail and told us to ‘Fuck off for a few hours,’ so she and Uncle Whatshisname could have some privacy.

By Smaktakula

Whitney Wasn't Always A Reality Star. Once Upon A Time Being Famous Required Having Talent.

Whitney Houston is dead at 48 a representative of the beloved singer announced today. Although cause of death has yet to be determined, even an encephalitic gibbon knows that drugs were the most likely culprit.

After a series of chart-busting hits the 1980s and the early 1990s, Houston’s reputation and career began a rapid simultaneous decline in the late 1990s, as the multiple-platinum artist devolved into a ranting, crack-addled bag lady. The enduring tragedy of Houston’s story is that her beauty, voice and innocence–the three transcendent qualities which made the performer unique–had been squandered long before she died.

Kids, Don't Do Drugs. But If You Absolutely Must Do Drugs, For Heaven's Sake, Do Them Correctly.

As with all stories of addiction and degradation, Houston’s fall did not occur overnight. She came to her abject and fatal road by a variety of paths, each winding tortuously through thickets of shame and poor choices and into the pungent morass of despair. Those various and meandering trails, however, if diligently followed, all terminate at a single source.

Hegyes rose to fame in the 1970s playing Juan Epstein, a wiseacre Puerto Rican-Jewish street punk with an impressive Jewfro. Actors Lawrence Hilton-Jacobs (the black one), John Travolta (the successful one) and Horshack (Horshack) rounded out the ensemble cast of Kotter, which ran from 1976 to 1979. Despite its initial popularity, the show quickly lost steam when Travolta’s film career took off, and when viewers began to realize that the dead-end lives of four doomed, inner-city losers wasn’t so funny after all.

"I'm Gonna Die In A Drug Deal Gone Bad!" {CUE LAUGH TRACK}

In later years, Hegyes supported himself by teaching, and although he continued to act into the twenty-first century, never again found a role as iconic as Juan Epstein. Hegyes’ is survived by his two children. Today we, along with millions around the globe, share their grief, and give voice to the silent, angry question on so many minds: “Why couldn’t it have been Horshack?”

By The Promethean Times Editorial Staff

We Looked Among All The Nations Of The World, And Could Find None More Deserving Of Our Praise.

We’ll admit it–we didn’t think it would come to this. We figured we’d be rich by now, or at the very least the Rapture would have freed us from our myriad woes. Since it didn’t (it didn’t, right?), we’ve picked ourselves up and resolved to make a game go of it. Moreover, we’re concentrating our hopes on the admittedly feeble chances the Mayans were right in predicting doom for 2012, and that very soon sweet nothingness will obliterate the pain that is existence.

Turns Out Somebody Made A Calculation Error When They Came Up With The 2012 Date. The Revised Figure Is 1492.

Until then, though, we’re even more delighted that, last December, we were the inaugural winner of the Promethean Times’ Person of the Year. Now, as we say goodbye to what we call ‘The Year of Promethean Times,’ it’s time to recognize a new mover and/or shaker for his/her/its contribution or impact to our world.

Having outstripped the rest of the field by light-years in the 2010 contest, Promethean Times could be forgiven for feeling like it has an edge in this year’s selection. After all, no one disputes that Promethean Times’ many, many contributions to the betterment of society rank among the more significant developments in 2011. Still, the beloved news journal remains humble. “Would we like to repeat?” asks Smaktakula, lead writer, “Absolutely–who wouldn’t? But we’ve got important events to cover, and we can’t really spend time thinking about things like that. Besides,” he adds, “Some other stuff happened.”

Among The Many Proposed Reforms Of The 'Arab Spring' Which Began In The Winter Of 2011 Is A Calendar That's Worth A Damn.

Fortunately, the world is in no immediate danger of losing its megalomaniacal dickheads–it seems as if for every despot hanged, another sprouts from the puddle of piss at his twitching feet. The loss of ‘Lil Kim was a blow for North Korea, but made easier when Kim Jong-un waddled into his father’s shoes and accepted his mandate to drive the shitstain of a country further into the ground. Africa maintained its preeminence for venal strongmen throughout 2011, with brutal racist Robert Mugabe of Zimbabwe single-lippedly keeping alive the Hitler Mustache, while Julius Malema, an exciting new face on the South African scene, promises to continue the ruination of the one-time economic powerhouse. And throughout the world, Muslims continued to blow things up in protest of the western world’s inexplicable and persistent view of Muslims as violent and reactionary. The West countered with fiercely abject apologies.

Fidel's Still Hanging In There.

Another theme embraced wholeheartedly worldwide was indignation. Contrary to the age-old adage, “What goes up must inevitably continue to do so,” 2011 saw a further decline in the still-ridiculous standard of living enjoyed by the West. Like going out to lunch with Grandma, the belief arose that it was enough to wait it out, and somebody would eventually pick up the check. The jarring reality that Grandma died during a visit to the ladies’ room brought angry people into the streets. In America, this phenomenon took the form of “Occupy Wall Street,” a Tea Party for the under-40 crowd, who still like to break things and enjoy the novelty of humping in Liberty Park, where rank coils of human feces suffice for scented candles and complete exposure for privacy.

For Real, We Totally Would.--Only, It Smells Like Pee And There's A Ton Of Poor People Walking Around.

The year was momentous for the United States. Although ending its involvement in Iraq (kinda, not really) the US steadfastly continued interminable bank-busting conflicts in places like Afghanistan, while also embarking on other daring adventures such as temporary conflicts in Libya and a secret war¹ in the Democratic Republic of Congo. On the home front, the government turned its attention against homegrown enemies, like pot shops in California, while Operation Fast & Furious ensured that narcos and Mexican Army assassins could continue to terrorize the citizenry of the failed state and disappear the occasional American tourist.

The year began with the Arizona shooting that turned US Representative Gabby Giffords into a living martyr, and the rest of the nation into a gang of loudmouthed assholes. Throughout the year the citizenry continued the tradition of killing one another, often in new and surprising ways.

America: Where Our Unsettling Anthropomorphic Monsters Are Just A Little Bit More Patriotic.

President Obama was once again unable to deliver on his promise to make the United States a magical Care Bear land of milk & honey scented with the sweet strains of children’s choirs singing liltingly of the unifying joy of diversity, but from their bastions in college quads and Code Pink meeting-houses, the President’s dwindling cadre of true believers assured us it was Republican obstructionism. And secret racism. Republicans countered that their sole aim was to restore sanity to a beleaguered nation, and promised that only as a last resort would they burn the fucking thing to the ground.

The Bad News Is That Rome Is Burning. The Good News Is That Everyone In Our Studio Audience Will Be Going Home Tonight With Shiny New Fiddles!

Political penii² proved productive in promoting prick-principled puns, as well as gratuitous alliteration. The destructive power of the penis was ably demonstrated by Arnold Schwarzenegger, who showed us that even a wealthy Hollywood/Government powerhouse with an even richer (albeit skeletal) wife will fuck an ugly woman if given the opportunity. Late night talk-show hosts methodically shook every last droplet of humor from the Weiner situation, before putting away their pricks at the disgraced NY Rep.

For Newlyweds Lisa And Bingo Lamb, A Day At The Fair Is A Great Reason To Dress Up.

As did the death of beautiful paper-doll Diana Spencer over a decade before, the wedding of Prince William to commoner Kate Middleton proved Americans are still fascinated with the royal family from which their forefathers once strove so mightily to emancipate themselves. Although America does not have a royalty per se, the Twenty-First Century has seen the rise of a new class of publicly-owned do-nothings. Paramount among these is the vile Kardashian Klan, a bloodline and marriage-based conglomerate that may just be the strongest argument yet advanced in support of the Armenian Holocaust.³ Kim Kardashian’s sham-marriage to basketball legend somebody-or-other netted the vapid perfume-tycoon more money than you’re likely to see in a thousand lifetimes.

There were a few stars whom we were relieved to see survive 2011, not least because their delightfully destructive antics provide regular low-hanging fruit for Promethean Times.Toothless cretin Charlie Sheen managed to bring his life and career to a shattering halt, suffering the additional injury of losing his place in America’s most beloved half-hour of insipidity to a genial retard. Yet through a heroic lack of self-awareness and the public’s perverse predilection for the doomed, the former Carlos Estevez is more popular than ever. The same cannot be said for Lindsay Lohan, once hailed as ‘The Flower of American Skankhood,’ who like Sheen, is one of 2012’s most likely fatalities. Despite a loving and supportive family, worldwide adoration and impeccable personal hygiene, the only audience to prove capable of tolerating LiLo’s act for any length of time were her customers at the LA County Morgue.

It Gets A Lot Less Sexy When You Realize She'll Be Dead Soon.

Sport continued to be a necessary diversion around the world, uniting and dividing people not by races or ethnicity, but by the overpriced merchandise they wore. In American sports, Jesus, sole scion of the Jehovah Dynasty, briefly tried His hand at football before quietly retiring once again to the sidelines, much to the dismay of football fans in the Mountain States. Although a strike marred the beginning of the 2011-2012 NBA season, the 2010-2011 season ended in a thrilling contest that satisfied both haters of LeBron James and fans of Schadenfreude in general. In what was nearly universally regarded as a black year for baseball, the one bright spot was the continuing absence of a World Series trophy in the Lone Star State. And in sports outside of America’s shores, a group of Japanese ladies won some soccer thing.

A Little Bit Like Schnitzel.

With all these notable events and people, both tragic and sublime, from which to choose, our editors had an unenviable task in determining Promethean Times’ Person of the Year for 2011. It was only after a thorough and at-times grueling vetting process, at several points during which the acrimony grew both increasingly bitter and ad hominem, that the worthy candidate emerged. Promethean Times is proud to name as this year’s Promethean Times’ Person of the Year and our first two-time back-to-back recipient, Promethean Times, honoring the venerable publication for its indefatigable and often thankless dedication to fighting the barbaric practice of puppy-killing.

Bravo, Promethean Times.

NEVER AGAIN.

To The Dear Friends To Whom We Bid Farewell In 2011: May You Find Yourselves In Heaven Before The Devil Knows You’re Dead:

Amy Might Still Be Alive If She Had Filled Her Drug-Pipe With Harmless Tobacco Instead Of What She Actually Filled It With--Drugs.

The Thing We'll Miss Most? The Laughter.

CNN News Personality Anderson Cooper Was Too Beautiful To Live.

Sure, It's A Tragedy For The Ages, But We Take Some Small Consolation In The Knowledge That There's One Less Drunk On The Streets Tonight.

Quiet, Modest And Unassuming, Mr. Savage Exemplified The Qualities For Which America Is Admired Across The Globe.

Get It? We're Being Metaphorical. Trust Us, Chicks Dig Metaphors.

The Colonel's Friends All Believed It Was Gaddafi's Fascination With Thriller-Era Michael Jackson That Prevented His Promotion To General.

This Beautiful Creature Learned Too Late That If Something Lives, The Germans Will Find A Way To Kill It.

This One Time, When Smaktakula Was In Juvenile Hall On An Arson Charge, He Met A Guy Who Claimed To Be Jani Lane's Half-Brother, And Damned If The Kid Didn't Look Just Like Him. No, That's It.

Old Friend, We'll Miss You Most Of All. Circumstances Demand That We Dispense With The Childish, Insensitive Caricatures Upon Which We So Often Rely, But Rather, Respect Your Culture By Offering You A Farewell Not Only More Dignified, But In Keeping With The Proud Traditions Of Korea. In This Last Hour, Dear Leader, We Say Simply, "Sayonara."

¹ While it’s not actually a secret that 100 US ‘advisers’ have been sent to the DRC to help combat the Lord’s Resistance Army, it might as well be for all the media talks about it. ∞T.

² ‘Penises’ is the accepted plural of ‘penis,’ but Promethean Times has always been, and will forever proudly remain, a penii-loving publication. ∞T.

³ It’s a joke, Tanzr–don’t let it curdle your yogurt soda. Yes, what happened to your great-great aunt whatsername at the hands of the Turks all those years was a tragedy, but at least we provided a link to Wikipedia. That’s a hell of a lot more than the US Government ever did. ∞T.

By Smaktakula

Glad To See You Made It, Jon. But If It Looks Like Jersey, It's At Best Purgatory.

Residents of the Garden State are resting a little easier with the knowledge that beloved New Jersey music icon Jon Bon Jovi is not dead, as was earlier reported. The erroneous reports of the singer’s death were greeted by the gnashing of teeth and tearing of garments from Bayonne to Camden. After Asbury Park native Bruce Springsteen, Bon Jovi is New Jersey’s most universally popular figure.

While Promethean Times shares the public’s relief at the news of Bon Jovi’s continued existence, the false rumors of his demise invite interesting speculation. Given that the majority of celebrities associated with New Jersey are cartoonish parodies of the state’s lowest and most venal stereotypes (the accuracy of these depictions notwithstanding), is there anyone else from New Jersey who might deserve death in Bon Jovi’s stead?

We proudly present the following options:

Jason Alexander: Irritating, Bald And Short, But Apparently Going Away On His Own.

Woodrow Wilson: Snooty Academic. League Of Nations Enthusiast. Reneged On Promise To Keep US Out Of WWI, And Failed To Make The World Safe For Democracy. Already Dead.

***

Joe Pesci: Like Alexander, Pesci Is Short And Irritating, But Has Better Hair And Has Appeared In A Funny Movie As Recently As The Clinton Administration.

However, after hundreds of hours sorting through viable candidates, contrasting their various crimes against humanity as well as mitigating factors, we’ve determined the New Jersey celebrity most in need of death: